


Wait

by missunderstood88



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Break Up, F/M, Fluff and Angst, GO READ IT, I REGRET NOTHING, I only planned for this to be 2k, JUST, Regret, Romance, Rose makes some bad decisions, and has really low self esteem apparently, but its all cool, but she's really stubborn, dealing with FEELINGS, gratuitous use of text messages, her father is not, her mother is happy with them, i dont really know what happened, neither is Rose, rose briefly turns into an internet creeper, rose does though, scorpius is such a sweetie pie, they get their HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missunderstood88/pseuds/missunderstood88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>After three years of contact, all day, every day, she supposes it was a bit much to expect them to just settle into the routine of friends. And even though they’re still in contact every day it still isn’t enough. She still wants –</em><br/>  <em></em><br/><b>She still wants Scorpius.</b><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait

**Author's Note:**

> So. In my plan I had the estimate length of this fic at around 2.5 - 3K. I don't even know what happened? I got nothing. You, however, got this fic. 
> 
> Just -
> 
> Yeah. Go forth and read.

**(i) give your tears**

Her dress? Well –

It’s the sort of thing you wear when full armour just isn’t going to be enough.

It’s black and it’s tight with a high, bateau neckline and a split from her calf to mid thigh. Her shoes are just as vicious; black again and patent with a dangerous looking six inch stiletto heel and the only colour on her is the red sole of her shoes and the red slick she has painstakingly painted onto her lips.

She looks fierce, put together and in control. Inside, she feels like she’s falling apart.

Her entire body is vibrating with nerves and emotion as she allows the Maître d’ to escort her to their table. She floats through the sea of pristine tablecloths and diners as if in a dream, feeling as though her feet never touch the ground, and her hands – her hands are _freezing_. Nerves, she tells herself. She wants to shove them up under her arms to warm them. To protect herself. She doesn’t; instead she tightens her grip on her black clutch and squares her shoulders.

He’s already waiting for her. Of course he is.

He’s always waiting for her.

Scorpius is staring out of the window to his right; his hand is resting negligently on the white table cloth and his fingers are playing absently with the edge of his napkin. His suit is perfect; perfectly black, perfectly cut, perfectly fitted. Perfectly Scorpius.  His only concession to colour is the small square of green silk which is neatly tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

Say what you want about Scorpius but he is, and always will be, a Malfoy.

She feels herself slowing as she approaches the table. She knows that she might not deserve it but she allows herself this moment to look him over and just _feel_ before everything comes crashing down around her; from his baby white hair to his sharp features and his broad shoulders to his elegant hands. He is the most beautiful person _she_ has ever seen and it makes her ache. _Physically_ ache.

His head turns slowly towards her and she tries for a smile but her muscles don’t seem to be working and so she schools her face blank to stop herself from grimacing at him. It doesn’t matter, either way. She sees the exact moment he realises what she intends to do tonight. His eyes sweep her from bottom to top, heated and hungry – _like always_ – and come to rest on her carmine coloured lips and then they turn glacial as they finally flick up to meet her own blue eyes.

 _Glacial_.

She watches the muscle in his jaw tick as she slides demurely into the seat opposite him. She takes a moment to arrange herself before she looks up.

Their eyes _lock_.

Rose stills completely.

The Maitre d’ places two leather binders in front of them and speaks for several moments but they don’t hear a word he says. Rose is floundering and she can feel her resolve starting to slip in the face of Scorpius’ anger. She didn’t want it to go this way. She wanted them to walk away from this as friends.

She wants to walk away from this with the hope that this might not be the end for them.

The Maitre d’ leaves and there is a brief pulse of tension.

“Well,” Scorpius says and his grey eyes are chilling as they bore into her own, “would you like to do it now or after dessert?” Rose grimaces at the ugly tone of his voice. It’s his Malfoy voice – the one he uses when he’s trying to make people understand just how much better he is than them and she can’t even muster the self-righteousness to feel indignant about it because she knows she deserves it. She pulls in a shaky breath.

“Scorpius,” she says but doesn’t get much further.

“No,” he says sharply and his mouth thins out. “Are you seriously going to do this _now_? You expect me to believe you actually _want_ to do this? What about this morning?”

“This morning?” she echoes weakly and her mind feels like it’s shutting down and she seriously doubts that she can go through with this. She _doesn’t want_ to go through with it. But she has to – for both of them.

“This morning,” Scorpius hisses and hurt and anger are carved into every angle of his face. “We were lying in bed – we had just _fucked_ ,” Rose flinches and looks surreptitiously to the tables around them, “you said you love me.”

“I do love you,” she breathes, earnest, and his face smoothes out fractionally because Scorpius can read her like a book and right now he knows that she’s telling the truth.

There is another pulse of silence between them as they both gather their emotions together. Scorpius hasn’t moved an inch in his seat – his perfect posture never once wavered because that isn’t Scorpius; he would never allow himself to be anything other than perfectly poised in public. He is solid and steadfast and it helps to bolster her.

“I do love you,” she repeats and she feels herself unclench as his face clears completely. Scorpius sighs.

“Then why –“ he trails off and waves a hand vaguely before pursing his lips.

“We’re eighteen years old, Scorpius,” she says it softly, as though she were talking to a wild animal that she’s trying not to spook, and in some ways she supposes she is. Scorpius snorts inelegantly and rolls his eyes before lifting a hand to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose.

“Your mother?” His voice is low and derisive and for a brief, fleeting second, Rose feels a stab of anger.

“This was my decision,” she says.

“I have no doubt,” Scorpius says bitterly. “But the idea was obviously your mother’s.” Rose can’t deny it, because it was.

“She’s right, Scorpius; _we are eighteen years old_. We’ve just left school. We’re going to spend the majority of - _at least -_ the next three years in completely different countries. We have our entire lives ahead of us; we should take the chance to be young before we start settling down.”

Scorpius huffs a sigh and drops his eyes to where his fingers are playing with something inside the folds of the intricately patterned napkin sitting on his plate. Rose feels her body clench a moment before he lifts his hand. He’s holding a black velvet Tiffany’s box.

A black velvet Tiffany’s _ring_ box.

Rose feels like she’s been winded.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be needing this after all, then?” The sneer on his face in that moment reminds her so much of the Draco Malfoy that her father and Uncle Harry have told her about that it gives her the courage she needs to shake her head because there is no way she could vocalise this when he’s holding _that_ box in his hand. Saying it would be too hard. Scorpius’ mouth is twisted in a bitter smile. “And here I thought you said you wanted to marry me.”

“I do,” she replies before she can stop herself. And she does. She’s pretty sure that Scorpius is it for her – that there is no one else in the world that she could ever love in the same way that she loves him. It’s all very simple for her. But she needs to be sure, about both of them.

“Well, now you’re just sending me mixed signals, sweetheart,” he says and she feels herself bristle because he _knows_ how much she hates being called sweetheart, but what can she do? He’s angry and he’s entitled to be angry. “Either we’re breaking up or we’re getting engaged – which is it?” And the lump that has been sitting in her throat all day grows at the underlying hope in his voice.

“Scorpius, I love you,” she tells him and she swallows forcefully when a small smile begins to curl on his lips. “I love you and I want to marry you – but not now.” And she has to bite her cheek to stop herself from bursting into tears at the disappointment that takes over his face. “We need to be sure about each other. You were my first everything. You’ve been my only everything.”

“And you’ve been _my_ only everything,” he reminds her indignantly.

“Exactly,” Rose says earnestly and she can see the frustration starting to work its way into his tight expression. “We’ve been together since we were fifteen. First boyfriend, first boy I held hands with, first kiss, you took my virginity. And it was the same for you. How can we really be sure that this is what’s right for us when we have nothing to compare against?”

“So that’s what this is about? You want more _experience_?” and the way he says it makes her feel dirty and foul. But she’s not going to let his anger and his hurt turn this into something that cannot be repaired. Even if he still hates her for it in the end, she _will_ make him understand why she’s doing this.

“No, that is _not_ what this is about,” she snaps and is gratified at the slight widening of his eyes. “This is about making sure that we really are forever.” She holds up a perfectly manicured hand to forestall anything he might say. “I want us to have some space and see other people. I want you to be sure about me and I want to be sure about you. We’ve been in a relationship for three years, but we’re not at school anymore and it’s going to be different – we’re adults now. We need to be sure that this is what we want before we start making commitments like getting engaged and we can’t be sure if we don’t know what’s out there. We’re going to university in two completely different countries; we’ll hardly see each other and this is the perfect opportunity.”

“I don’t want to know what’s out there, Rose, I want _you_.” And despite the anger in his voice, Rose’s heart _melts._

“And I want you to be as sure as is humanly possible before you put that ring on my finger.”

Neither of them speaks for a moment until Scorpius heaves a huge sigh and although his posture only changes minutely, he seems to shrink into himself.

“So you’re asking me to wait until you’ve been on enough dates with other blokes to be sure that you _do_ want to marry me?”

“What?” ask Rose, horrified. “ _No_! I don’t want you to sit around waiting on me. I want you to go out and make sure for yourself.” She tells him, and she reaches out to take his hand but she only gives it a quick squeeze before she realises what she’s doing and quickly drops it. Scorpius’ eyes track the retreat of her hand crossly before he lifts them to meet her own.

“You want me to go on dates with other girls?” his tone is disbelieving and Rose _knows_ that she must look stricken.

“No, I don’t,” she tells him truthfully. “But I don’t want you sitting around waiting on me coming back, either. I’m not going to be that girl, Scorpius. I want you to live your life and be happy with the decisions you make.”

“I can’t do this, Rose,” he tells her shaking his head slightly. “I’ll give you the time and space you want,” he tells her as she begins to protest, “but I can’t see other people. I don’t _want_ to see other people.”

And Rose is desperate because she cannot say the same back to him, but Scorpius seems to understand because he gives her a soft smile; it’s sad and beautiful and it breaks Rose’s heart. He reaches across the table and pulls her hand towards him and Rose lets him. She allows herself a moment to pretend that this isn’t happening, that she isn’t throwing away the best thing in her life as he softly presses kisses to each of her knuckles.

“And I know that you’re going to be coming back to me. I love you, Rose Weasley,” he tells her, “and I’ll wait for you forever if I have to.”

Of course he will; he’s always waiting for her.

 

###

 

**(ii)**

 

Her parents buy her a new car as a sort of ‘ _good-job- for-getting-into-Cambridge_ ’gift. It’s an Audi; a big, white SUV that is currently jam-packed with boxes and suitcases. And the car was obviously her mother’s choice because her father knows that she hates big cars; he knows that she was saving up to buy herself a classic. Probably an American muscle car in cherry red, because if you’re going to do something –say, _owning a car_ – then you may as well do it properly.

But no.

Instead she ends up with a big, white monstrosity.

And she hates it.

She hates it because it is exactly what her mother would buy for herself – and Rose is most certainly _not_ her mother – and she can just imagine what Scorpius would be saying if he could see her; if he were here to see her off to –

But no –

He’s not here and he won’t be and this was _her decision_ , so she shouldn’t be pining like this. It’s been two months and she shouldn’t still be missing him this much. She needs to put him to the back of her mind if she’s going to do this.

She drops her head to rest it against the gleaming body of her new car and takes a deep breath. The back door on her left is still open and the new car smell drifts out to her and she hates the car even more. She closes her eyes and tries to remember nights spent cruising in Scorpius’ _67’ Camaro_ and the smell of old leather and Scorpius and the coffee they would drink to keep themselves awake. She remembers the _feel_ of warm leather on the back of her thighs, and cool leather on the skin of her back – of her cheek. The feel of Scorpius’ lips on her own; wet and swollen and –

This needs to stop.

She hasn’t seen him in two months, but they still talk every day. Like they can’t stop themselves. Which, she realises, _she can’t_. Silly little messages that mean nothing and manage to sit on the safe side of whatever they are to each other now.

After three years of contact, all day, every day, she supposes it was a bit much to expect them to just settle into the routine of friends. And even though they’re still in contact every day it still isn’t enough. She still wants –

_She still wants Scorpius._

Rose swallows down the lump that has suddenly appeared in her throat. She takes a deep, shaky breath and lifts her head.

“ _…I mean? She’s miserable because you can’t help yourself but interfere._ ”

It’s her father’s voice that she hears and she has no doubt who he’s talking to and who he’s talking _about_.

Her parents have been arguing a lot in the past two months. Mostly since the night she called things off with Scorpius when she had walked through the front door, took one look at her father and promptly burst into tears.

He had pulled her into his lap the same way he would when she was a little girl and rocked her back and forth as he stroked her hair and let her get mascara all over his white work shirt.

He had told her that everything would be okay. He had told her that she was eighteen; she was an adult and she could start making her own decisions from now on. He told her that her mother loved her, and that she only wanted what was best, but that her mother had made some decisions in her young life that she had gone on to regret and only wanted to keep Rose from regret later in life. But he told her that what was good for one wasn’t always good for the other and Rose had to make her own choices and mistakes. He told her that only she would know what was right for her.

Rose had gone to bed that night with the certainty that what she had done was entirely _wrong_ for her.

She had been woken around about three am the next morning to the sound of her parents arguing.

They had argued a lot this summer. Most nights, really.

She’s terrified that her parents are on a quick road to divorce but she doesn’t know what to do or how to help and all she can do is sit and listen to the arguments.

But none of them had been as bad as last night’s.

Rose had sat at the top of the stairs; her arms wrapped around Hugo as they listened to their parents tear each other apart:

“You had no _right_.”

“Of course I had a right, Ron. She’s my _daughter_. She needs – “

“What she _needs_ is to make her own decisions. You can’t keep coddling her; she’s going to university tomorrow for Christ’s sake. She needs to take responsibility. And you had no right _interfering_ _in her life that way_.”

“Oh, what? You’d have been quite happy to send her off to university _pining_ for a boy who’s going to meet someone else in Paris and completely forget about her? She’s going to _Cambridge_ ; she needs to worry about her studies and making friends and connections, not about what her boyfriend is getting up to.”

“Can you actually hear yourself?”

“Don’t you _dare_ –“

“She _loves_ him. She’s been miserable the whole summer. She misses him; she didn’t want to break up with him but she did it because _you told her to_!”

“ _Because it’s what’s best for her!_ ”

“At this point I honestly think you have no idea what is best for my daughter.”

“Oh, _your_ daughter? She’s _your_ daughter now?”

“Yes, Hermione, she’s _my_ daughter. Because I wouldn’t go out and tell her to do something that I _know_ will contribute to her unhappiness.”

“I was doing what’s best for her – “

“No, Hermione, you were telling her to do what you wish _you_ had done.”

“Yes, I was. And I stand by it.”

“Just because _you_ regret marrying your childhood sweetheart does not mean that Rose would. She’s not you.”

“Ron – “

“Just, go to bed, Hermione. I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“Ron, please –“

“Just _go_!”

Rose and Hugo had rushed back to her room at the sound of their mother’s approach and had spent the night huddled together in her bed, Hugo’s forehead pressed into her collarbone as she stroked his brown curls. They lay awake for hours. They never heard their Father climb the stairs and go to bed and he had already been dressed and in the kitchen making breakfast when they had made it downstairs this morning.

She’s observant enough to know that her parent’s marriage has been on the rocks for a long, long time, but lately it’s gotten unbearable and she hopes that with her going to Cambridge and Hugo going back to Hogwarts to start his A-Levels, that having the time to themselves will help them patch things up.

She doesn’t want to watch her parent’s relationship end as well.

She turns at the touch of a warm hand on her shoulder and finds herself facing her mother’s sad smile.

“All ready, Angel?” her mother asks and doesn’t move her hand, instead she squeezes lightly. Rose doesn’t answer and just steps forward into her mother’s arms. She wraps her arms around her mother’s small waist and rests her head in the curve where neck meets shoulder. Hermione’s arms come around her tightly, cocooning her. Rose breathes deeply and the smell of _White Linen_ , or _Opium_ , or possibly even _Clinique_ – whatever; the point is, is that it’s comforting and for a few minutes Rose can pretend that she’s a little girl again with nothing more to worry about than which one of her toys she should play with that day.

Then her mother is stepping backwards and Rose feels _cold_ despite the fact that it’s summer and the sun is shining. Two dry hands take hold of her face and Rose tries to focus on the blurry image of her mother’s face as she blinks back tears.

“I am so, so proud of you, Rose,” Hermione says as she drops a kiss to Rose’s forehead. “You have to know that. Of all the things I have done in my life, the one I am most proud of is that I helped to create people as incredible as your brother and you.”

And Rose has to laugh at that, because her mother has done a lot of things to be proud of. Her and Rose’s father and their uncle Harry had been instrumental in tracking and brining down a terrorist cell, which had been targeting Uncle Harry, as well as the British monarchy, whilst they were at school. They all had distinguished careers in government. They had built themselves a life most people only dream about.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t believe a word her mother has said and that makes Rose feel special. It makes Rose feel like the cup is suddenly half-full and that it’s half-full of potential. Because her mother doesn’t lie.

It makes her feel better about the decisions she’s made.

“I love you,” she says and her voice is watery through her tears. Then she’s back in her mother’s arms.

The drive from her home in Hertfordshire to the University of Cambridge takes her little over an hour and then she’s busy – so, so busy trying to sort out her new life that she doesn’t stop to think until she’s dropped the last of her stuff in her room. She’s in Clare College and she’s lucked out and managed to get her own room.

She drops the last of her suitcases onto the floor beside her bed and then drops herself onto the bed with a weary sigh. Through her window she can see trees, the river Cam and the late afternoon sun.

It starts to hit her that she’s actually doing this; she’s attending university. She’s growing up.

She’s also three hundred and twenty eight miles away from Scorpius, where he’s attending _La Sorbonne_ in Paris. She knows, she checked on Google maps.

She pulls her phone from the bedside table that she had dropped it on when she first walked in that morning. She has eight missed calls and four text messages from her mum, four texts from her dad, two from her brother, one from auntie Ginny and – her hearts flutters – one from Scorpius.

She answers her mother first – _I’m fine. Just got stuff into room. Will call you 2moro xx_ – then she sends the same message to her father and Auntie Ginny. She answers her brother – _If you keep asking me about the babe population I will never allow you to visit me. I miss you xx_ – and then finally, she reads Scorpius’ text.

[13:42] **How’d the move go?x**

She smiles to herself at the sight of the little _x_.

It’s been three hours since he sent the message.

[16:53] _Just got everything into my room. It still doesn’t feel real. I almost wish I was just going back to Hogwarts. How is Paris?x_

She waits for a reply for a while whilst she unpacks and when she hasn’t received one by seven she decides to go out for something to eat. She leaves her phone at home.

Somehow she ends up at the Clare Bar; a stone affair with black leather sofa’s that looks like it would be better suited as a trendy _must-see_ in London than in the halls of fabled Cambridge servicing the students and staff of Clare College.

She spends the night making new friends and drinking Stowford Press on draught and when she gets back to her room around midnight she’s fairly tipsy. And, for someone whose decision it was to end the relationship, unreasonably disappointed to find that Scorpius still hasn’t replied.

She falls into her unmade bed and tries to ignore the tears and mascara that are soaking into her pillow.

When she wakes up in the morning, she does so to a mild headache, a dry mouth and text message from Scorpius.

[03:14] **fuck i miss you xxx**

Her heart is beating a tattoo in her chest as she stares down at the message. He’d obviously been out and had been drinking when he sent it and he had been thinking about _her_. She knows she shouldn’t be this happy. She knows it’s not healthy. But then she’s been so good since they split up that she allows herself this and the reply she sends:

[08:32] _I miss you too xx_

She waits all day for a reply that doesn’t come.

 

###

 

**(iii)**

****

She’s been at Cambridge for just under a month and things are going well for her. She’s made a lot of friends and has even joined a couple of sports clubs and the Classics society.

She’s feeling happy and settled and starting to think that maybe everything is going to work out the way it’s supposed to because the friendship thing has been going really well between her and Scorpius.

She’s out for coffee with two of the girls from her Greek class and they’re trying to figure out what they’ll be doing for Halloween when she receives a text from Scorpius.

 

[15:03] **I heard a rumour that the Scamander twins have been spotted with some bird on redtube?**

[15:03] _Yeah me too. Who told you?_

[15:03] **Albus**

[15:04] _Sames. Boy has a porn problem._

[15:04] **lol porn problem. But yes he does. He also has a drink problem if his visit this weekend was anything to go by.**

[15:05] _Don’t. I don’t need to be worrying about him and his excessive drinking. My mum already said auntie Ginny is thinking about staging an intervention._

[15:06] **Fresher’s fever that’s all. He’ll calm down in the next couple of weeks.**

[15:06] _And if he doesn’t?_

[15:07] **We’ll let his mum stage an intervention.**

[15:07] _He’d never forgive us. I’m almost tempted to go straight to intervention for the entertainment factor._

[15:08] **you’re so evil. I love it.**

[15:11] _Don’t you’ll make me blush. How is la paree?_

[15:11] **French. How is Cambridge?**

[15:11] _Academic. Also cold._

[15:14] **Are you going home during your reading week?**

[15:14] _No I’m going to use it to read._

[15:16] **Sounds sensible. What are your plans this weekend?**

[15:16] _No idea yet. Having coffee with the girls now to figure out the plan. You?_

[15:16] **Going to a fancy dress party with Zabini.**

[15:17] _Oh jesus, which one?_

[15:17] **Astra. She’s in the same halls as me.**

 

Rose stares at the name _Astra_ and tries desperately to put a face to the name. She knows most of the Zabini clan because most of them went to Hogwarts except for a small number of them who attended school in the south of France. Astra must be one of them because for the life of her, Rose cannot think of who Astra Zabini is.

 ** _She’s_** _in the same halls as me_.

Panic grips her.

 **_She’s_ ** _in the same halls as me_

Christ, she’s bound to be gorgeous. All the Zabini’s are gorgeous.

She stares at the message and feels distinctly queasy.

She shouldn’t. This is what she wanted for them. Both of them out meeting new people and experiencing university life properly.

So why is she so panicked that Scorpius is going to a party with a friend?

A _female_ friend.

 **_She’s_ ** _in the same halls as me_

No, she knows exactly why and she has no right to feel this way. This was _her idea_. She needs to accept it.

She stares at the message and tries to think of a response but all she keeps thinking is _please still love me_ and she can’t send that. She hates herself a little bit then because she knows that deep down she _does_ want him to sit around and wait for her to decide that they’ve spent enough time apart and she doesn’t want to be that girl. But also, she knows that she’s overreacting. Astra is likely just a friend; a beautiful, Zabini friend.

The Zabini’s are old money, she remembers; like the Malfoys. They’re the same kind of people. Not like her family who all came from working class backgrounds and have had to work for their money.

New money; is what Lucius Malfoy calls her family. And it’s always said with a sneer that lets Rose know that he never thought she was good enough for his grandson.

But someone like Astra Zabini – someone who comes from old money – they would be good enough.

The queasiness increases and she ends up giving most of her pumpkin latte to one of the girls before asking them to text her with the plans for the next day and then excusing herself. She suddenly finds she wants to be alone and she spends hours walking the streets of Cambridge trying to make herself understand just how utterly ridiculous she is being before her feet eventually bring her back to Clare College.

The walk hasn’t helped and she’s still walking the knife’s edge of panic. She knows it isn’t healthy to be obsessing over something so small.

She stumbles into her room and stands for a moment allowing the warmth of the room to wash over her. Then she spots the half-finished bottle of wine beside her bedside table and, without removing her coat, picks it up, pulls out the cork and takes long drags straight from the bottle until she has to pull away gasping for breath. She relishes the burn as it makes its way down her body and tries to ignore the way it makes her empty stomach churn.

She puts her lips back to the bottle and drains it.

She drops the empty bottle into the bin and then takes two deep, calming breaths before she changes into her night clothes.

She needs a distraction.

She settles at her desk and spends twenty minutes trying to work on her Latin declensions before she gives it up as a bad job. So she decides to answer the emails that have been piling up in her inbox instead. She manages to get one written to Victoire and one to her Father and she’s halfway through one to Albus before she realises that she’s practically begging him for information about Scorpius and his new friend. She deletes the whole thing and then gives up on writing emails.

It’s around this time that she takes out the bottle of Vanilla vodka from her mini fridge.

She doesn’t bother with a glass.

She spends hours on YouTube watching make-up tutorials and old episodes of _Mock the Week_ with Russell Howard still on the panel and videos of Goats singing Taylor Swift songs.

She’s gets a quarter of the way through the bottle before she types the name _Astra Zabini_ into Facebook.

The page she brings up is sporting a profile picture of one of the most beautiful women Rose has ever seen in her life.

Dark skin and dark eyes and long elegant lines and lips that Rose tries to tell herself aren’t real.

The cover photo is an artistic shot of a group of five people stood in front of the Eiffel Tower. Rose’s stomach lurches when she recognises Scorpius. Scorpius, who has his arm wrapped around Astra’s waist as they smile joyfully into the camera.

She tells herself that it means nothing. She tells herself that she’s seeing things where there is nothing to see.

Three hours and a Google search later and Rose is intimately acquainted with Astra’s Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr accounts – all of which have recently started to feature Scorpius. She’s also discovered that Astra is touted to be the next big thing in the world of modelling. Panic is beginning to buzz under Rose’s skin.

The bottle of Vodka is now half empty and there is some distant part of her mind that is trying to tell her that there is something very wrong about the fact that she has just sat and drank over half a litre of vodka straight from the bottle whilst obsessively internet-stalking her _ex_ -boyfriends potentially new girlfriend.

It’s at this point that she remembers that she still hasn’t replied to Scorpius’ text and that she had better do so before he starts to think that she might have a problem about his going to this fancy dress party with his new friend, **_Astra_**.

Even though she does.

She really, really does.

[02:19] _Hav fUn,. Cxx_

 

###

 

**(iv)**

 

It takes a litre of water, one thousand milligrams of paracetamol and a sausage and egg breakfast roll drowning in brown sauce before she can honestly say she has her hangover under control.

She’s sitting in the Buttery on her own, likely stinking of vodka, humiliation and shame, when the call from Victoire comes. She’s in London with Teddy and Dominique, but they want to see her. They can be in Cambridge by one. Rose has to force herself not to cry down the phone out of relief at the thought of seeing her family. If there were ever a time she needed her family, this was it.

She has just over two hours before her cousins arrive and she intends to use the time to get herself together.

She takes a long, scalding hot shower and uses a masque on her hair. She exfoliates and shaves. She plucks her eyebrows and then takes her time applying her make-up.  She expertly styles her long, red hair and then spends 15 minutes carefully choosing an outfit. She ends up wearing a belted, floral skater dress, a chunky knit cardigan and chunky heeled, ankle boots.

The result, she decides, as she looks in the mirror, is pleasing and for the first time in weeks, Rose is feeling good about herself. She’s feeling positive despite her little melt down the night before.

She takes her white monstrosity of a car – which, today, doesn’t seem so much of a monstrosity – and picks up her cousins and Teddy from the station. Their reunion is happy and tearful and emotional and Rose has never needed a hug as much as she needs the one she gets off Teddy when he picks her up and spins her around.

She drives them to a river-side restaurant near the university and they _do the snob thing,_ as Albus likes to call it, and spend a small fortune eating _Ravioli of lobster, langoustine and salmon_ and _sautéed foie gras_ and _asparagus from Jerome Galis with perigord truffle._ They drink _Garrafeira_ wine and end their meal with smooth Brazilian coffee and Rose is feeling content and relaxed and happier than she has in a long time.

They’re listening to Dominique wax poetical about the new Adviser seeing her through her PHD in French and Comparative literature at La Sorbonne, whom it seems that Dominique is in love with, before Rose realises that she’s managed to go the whole meal without once thinking about Scorpius. She takes this as a good sign and the feeling of contentment settles even more.

Or it does until Dominique turns to her and says:

“So, I’m guessing you and Scorpius are really done for good then?”

Rose’s heart seems to stop in her chest and she tries to surreptitiously take a deep breath through her nose. Her voice, when she answers, wavers.

“We did break up. What makes you ask?” Rose can see the uneasiness in Dominique’s face as she seems to realise that she is now in possession of information about Scorpius that Rose was not aware of. Information that will obviously upset Rose and Rose tries her hardest to prepare herself for what she knows is coming.

“Oh, well,” says Dominique uncomfortably. “There’s a rumour going around school that he’s seeing someone.”

“Oh?” she tries for nonchalance, but she’s not sure how successful she’s been when she spots the concerned look that Teddy and Victoire share. “Anyone I know?”

There is a beat of silence and the tension is so thick she’s surprised she hasn’t suffocated from it.

And she knows what name is going to come out of her cousin’s mouth a second before Dominique speaks.

“Astra Zabini.”

**_Astra Zabini._ **

Rose’s fears are confirmed. Her melt down the night before hadn’t been for naught.

The world seems to flex and then fold and then completely buckle around her. Rose feels like she’s drowning in nothing and he entire body has gone numb. She feels a smile spread across her lips but she knows she’s not fooling anyone from the looks on her cousin’s faces.

She opens her mouth to say something; she’s not sure what, but anything to get rid of those awful looks–

Her phone vibrates on the table and she knows without looking who the message is from.

This is how her life goes now.

_No, no, no, no, no._

[14:43] **Have fun? What the fuck is that about, Rose?**

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until Victoire reaches across the table and wipes the tears off her cheeks.

She doesn’t text him back.

 

###

**(v)**

 

Rose never texts him back again after that, although he keeps trying for a while.

 

###

**(vi)**

Text messages and voicemails from Scorpius Malfoy and the replies that Rose Weasley never sends.

 

**( _1st November)_**

[20:23] **Did you get my last message?**

([20:23] _Yes I just can’t face talking to you right now because I think I’d say something I’d end up regretting._ )

 

**( _4 th November_)**

[08:08] **Is there any particular reason you’re ignoring me?**

([08:08] _Because I’ve realised I made a huge mistake and now I don’t want to face the consequences._ )

 

**( _5 th November_)**

[12:33] **Have you lost your phone?**

([12:33] _No, but I think I’ve lost my mind._ )

 

**( _9 th November_)**

[21:15] **Okay, so Albus has just told me that you haven’t lost your phone because he called you this morning. What the fuck, Rose? Why won’t you answer me?**

([21:15] _I wouldn’t know what to say to you anymore._ )

[23:51] **Answer me Rose.**

[23:52] **Please?**

 

**( _15th November_ )**

[10:00] **I’m trying really hard to think of something I could have done that made you stop talking to me? Did I do something? Please tell me if I did something to upset you. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I’ve done.**

([10:00] _I love you so much._ )

 

 **(1)** **Unheard message. Received 19:34.**

“Rose, look, on the off-chance you’re not getting my messages for some reason, I thought I’d give you a call, but you obviously can’t answer – or won’t answer … it’s been a long time since I last heard your voice. I just – I can’t help but feel like I’ve done something wrong, you know? And I’d hate to think that you’re upset with me over something and aren’t telling me. We promised each other honesty and I ... I dunno … I assumed that would carry over into us being friends? So just, like, call me back or whatsapp me or something, okay? Just let me know what’s going on? I guess – I just – I … I miss you.”

 

**( _18 th November_)**

[22:16] **My parents said that you RSVP’d no for the New Years party? Please don’t do this we were supposed to stay friends? I’m going to change your RSVP. Please come.**

([22:16] _I’ll only go if I can kiss you at midnight_ )

 

**( _19 th November_)**

[23:49] **Fuck Rose. Please just talk to me. I can’t stand this.**

([23:49] _Well I can’t stand the thought of you and Astra._ )

**(8) Missed Calls.**

 

**( _22 nd November_)**

[15:22] **Do you know what? Fuck you Rose. Youre the one that made a fuss about us staying friends and now you wont even fucking acknowledge me? Fuck you.**

([15:22] _I still had you when I made this decision. I didn’t realise how hard the reality of it would be. I’m sorry._ )

 

**( _27 th November_)**

[17:25] **Babe, please answer me. I can’t do this I need to hear from you. What happened? What changed?**

([17:25] _Nothing changed. You were always more adaptable than I was. That’s all._ )

 

**( _28th November_ )**

**(1)** **Unheard Message. Received 09:15.**

“{background noise of people and cars} … Rose … please just … _fuck_ -“

 

**( _30th November_ )**

[09:30] **This is the last message I send you Rose. It’s been a month since I last heard from you and I still don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to have done. I’m not going to keep chasing after you and I think you’re an absolute dick for doing this. If you didn’t want to stay friends then you should have just said instead of pulling something like this. After three years I’d have thought I was worthy of a bit more respect but obviously not. I hope you’re happy with yourself.**

([09:30] _I’m not, Scorpius, I’m really, really not. I wish I could go back in time and change the past four months because all I want to do is spend the rest of my life with you. I’m such a fool.)_

###

**(vii)**

 

Rose has never felt so low in her life. So when half of the Weasley-Potter clan suddenly appear on her doorstep bearing gifts and smiles, she’s surprised to find that she wants them gone almost as soon as they’ve all arrived.

She’s fallen into a pattern of work and sleep, and when forced to, empty socialising with her friends. This is not part of her pattern.

She doesn’t want her family to see just how bad things have gotten for her. But her body goes lax with a strange mixture of shame and relief when Albus is the last of them to step into her small dorm room. They stand and just _look_ at each other for a moment, both seeming to realise that it’s been months since they last saw each other. It’s the longest they’ve ever been apart.

It hurts to realise this because Albus is as much her brother as Hugo is.

Then Albus takes in her unkempt hair, her daytime pyjamas, her dull skin and her noticeably smaller waist line. He frowns with his forehead as well as his mouth and then he’s wrapping her into a hug and murmuring “Oh, Rosie.”

Rose disintegrates into a mess of snot and hiccups and tears.

She is suddenly at the centre of a very chaotic jumble of long, freckled limbs and red hair and dark hair and they’re all just a big mess of Weasleys and Potters. James is elbowed in the face by Albus and Fred has his foot trod on by both Louis and Molly and Dominique is screeching that someone is leaning on her hair and something inside Rose seems to unclench for the first time in a long, long while.

And then she’s laughing. They’re shy, wet hiccupping laughs; but she’s still laughing and the entire atmosphere of the room changes. They all seem to sigh as the tension leaves them and they sink down onto the floor of her room giggling and poking at each other. They stay like that for a long time, sprawled, laughing and talking quietly; content to just be there in contact with each other; every single one of them needing the comfort of that touch. They’re like a wolf pack and Rose is suddenly burning with the fierceness of the love she feels for these people around her and with an intense need for the rest of her family.

“Vic and Domi were concerned that you might be working yourself into the ground and it would appear they had every right to be concerned,” James finally says as he casts an appraising eye over Rose’s slighter form. “So we decided to come down and force you to take a weekend off to have fun.”

“Did you, now?” Rose says “And what have you got planned for this weekend of fun?”

James grins roguishly.

“We’re going to London.”

And they do go to London.

James piles them all into his red Hummer H3 and takes the roads at a reckless speed. For once Rose just sits back, cracks her window and lets him get on with it as the wind whips her hair out behind her.

Dominique has booked them rooms at Claridge’s and they dine at Fera’s, too. And all Rose can think about the entire time is that this is where Scorpius and her celebrated their third anniversary. She deliberately orders the John Dory and tries not to cry into it and tells herself that she has no right to feel sorry for herself because this is all her own fault.

Louis demands that they go to Funky Buddha and no one else is really bothered enough about where they go to object.

Rose surprises herself by having fun. They drink fruity cocktails and laugh and joke around and – yeah. She’s having fun.

Or she is until she spots him.

For a moment she thinks it’s _him_ – Scorpius. But it’s just the hair that throws her off because it is exactly the same colour and style, but when the man turns around and she gets a look at his face she calms down enough to realise it’s definitely not _him_ and that he’s not as tall as Scorpius, and he’s too bulky. But she’s still unsettled and shaky.

The Scorpius not-lookalike stalks past her with a friend and noticing her attention drops a smooth smile at her. Rose just stares blankly back until, embarrassed, he turns away but all she can think is why she had thought it might be _him_ because now that she’s seen the man up close, even the hair colour is all wrong; it’s too yellow.

She realises that the hollow, heavy feeling in her chest means that she had been hoping it _would_ be Scorpius and that she’s disappointed it’s not. No. Not disappointed. She’s _crushed_. But why would he be in London when he’s supposed to be in Paris? _With Astra_.

Her hands are shaking as she sets her cocktail glass down on the table and excuses herself to the bathroom and she can feel Albus’ eyes on her retreating figure as she heads the other way towards the White Room. Security takes one look at her face and steps back to let her through.

Sometimes, the small celebrity that her parent’s money buys her has come in very handy.

The room is, mercifully, empty and quieter and Rose sinks down onto a white leather seat with a wavering breath. She closes her eyes and focuses on breathing. Two minutes later she feels the seat dip as Albus joins her. There is a long, comfortable silence and then his arm settles across her shoulders.

“I asked him to come over for this weekend,” Albus tells her and Rose feels the tension in her chest wind tighter. She doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about. “He said he already had plans but that even if he didn’t you wouldn’t have appreciated his company.”

Rose darts a quick glance up to Albus’ intense expression and then back to her champagne coloured nails. She gives a quick shrug. “Can’t imagine why.” And she winces at how unconvincing her voice sounds even to her. Albus snorts.

“It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve cut off all communication with him and haven’t spoken to him in over a month.”

“I haven’t cut off _all_ communication,” says Rose defensively. “I haven’t deleted him from Facebook.”

And it’s true, if only because she couldn’t bring herself to do it. How else would she torture herself over pictures of Scorpius and Astra at _Patisseries_ and on the star at Notre Dame and of them making fun of art at the Louvre?

“Rose,” Albus says warningly and Rose sighs.

“Well, he had plans anyway,” she replies, trying desperately to get him to give up the conversation but she has no such luck and when he replies Albus’ tone is almost punishing.

“Yes, he did; he’s going to the Zabini Winter Gala.” Rose has to physically steel herself against the next part. “He’s going as Astra’s escort.”

Rose swallows thickly around the bile that is quickly rising in her throat.

_He’s going as Astra’s escort._

At their age, and in _his_ world, standing as an escort for an event like that is a clear statement of intent. If she ever needed any more evidence that they were –

“Rose,” Albus’ voice is soft and so is the hand he curls around her shoulder. “Why did you call things off with him?”

Rose feels something hard rise up inside of her; not quite anger. Self righteousness? A sick sense of satisfaction that she had been right in her decision, however unhappy it makes her? She stands swiftly, knocking away her cousin’s arm.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” She grimaces. “Obviously.”

“No, _Rose_ -“

But their conversation doesn’t get any further because suddenly Fred is bursting through the door with an indignant “ _there you are_.” He is followed by James, Molly, Louis, Dominique and a mixed group of trendily dressed men and women who appear to work with her two older cousins. James beckons them over to where a barman is setting down bottles of _Belvedere_ Vodka and Rose takes the opportunity to move away from Albus and the conversation which is just upsetting her even more.

She drinks her vodka straight and spends the rest of the night avoiding Albus’ knowing looks.

She finds herself on a white leather seat, sandwiched between two of James’ co-workers; one of which is very attractive. His name is Tom and he has wavy dark hair, porcelain pale skin, almost black eyes and lips so red and full they look like he’s been chewing on them. He’s funny and he’s intelligent and he’s genuinely interested in what Rose has to say when she tells him about studying Classics at Cambridge and his flirty touches are soft and appropriate. He does everything _perfectly_ and Rose should be enamoured. Rose should be desperate for the chance of a date with this attractive, charismatic, intelligent man. But she’s not, and she spends the whole night comparing him to Scorpius. He doesn’t come out favourably.

She hates herself a little bit for how pathetic she’s become and has to turn away from Albus’ smug smile when Tom asks for her number at the end of the night and she declines.

She doesn’t say a word to anyone all the way back to the hotel.

She’s drunk and she’s miserable and she can’t get to sleep but she can’t get up either because she’s sandwiched between Molly and Albus in a queen-size bed so she reaches beneath her pillow for her phone instead and morosely thumbs through her messages from Scorpius.

The need to talk to him is a physical ache beneath her skin.

But, she thinks, he probably doesn’t want to hear from her now.

What would she say anyway?

So she puts her phone away again, rolls towards Albus’ back and rests her forehead between his shoulder blades. She’s starting to drift off when he reaches back and takes her hand.

 

###

 

**(viii)**

Edmund Nott and his fiancé Cliodne Greengrass are the type of people you would expect to find in a Burberry ad; sharp and blunt at the same time, strangely colourless but undeniably beautiful.

Clio is also Scorpius’ first cousin on his mother’s side, so Rose is definitely surprised to find herself sitting opposite the two of them in a trendy pub on the river, having drinks and sharing a tense silence.

Christmas decorations have been cheerfully hung, but the twinkle of coloured lights in her periphery is only serving to add to the headache that has been building since she woke up that morning and Rose is wishing desperately that she had begged off the invitation for drinks and just stayed in her dorm, in her pyjamas, watching Netflix.

Edmund, for his part, doesn’t bother to hide the fact he would rather be anywhere else in the world at that precise moment and, instead, spends the whole time on Whatsapp. In fact, if the complicated and improbable looking combination of letters at the top of his Phone’s screen is anything to go by, she knows exactly who he’s messaging. She tries, and fails, to stop her stomach from tightening.

Clio just sits and glares at Rose. Rose sighs, takes a sip of her warm beer and continues to watch Edmund’s thumbs fly across the screen of his phone.

“You’re thinner than the last time I saw you,” Clio says and her tone is as unfriendly as her glare. Rose clears her throat and watches Edmund’s shoulders tense before she meets Clio’s eyes.

“Erm, thank you?” she’s not sure if it was meant as a compliment, an observation or a criticism. She gives Clio the benefit of the doubt.

“You should try and gain some of it back. You look better with a bit more weight on you.” _Ah_. Rose’s mouth tightens and so does Clio’s. “You can’t pull off the beanpole look the way someone like Astra Zabini can.”

 _Ah_.

Rose feels like she’s been struck. She feels like Clio has rammed a fist into her solar plexus and she struggles to breathe around her glass as she raises it to her lips again. She catches Edmund watching her from beneath his lashes but he quickly drops his eyes back to his phone when he catches her looking.

Be gracious, she tells herself. Be the bigger person.

“Yes, well, girls who look like Astra Zabini can pull of just about any look.”

There. No one could ever claim she was uncharitable with regards to the girl. Clio’s answering smile is almost predatory and Rose feels like she’s walked right into a trap.

“Can’t they just? You know,” Clio settles into her seat with a sort of vicious satisfaction, “I was at the Malfoy estate in Burgundy a couple of weeks ago and she was there with Scorpius.”

Clio pauses and watches Rose for a heartbeat, and Rose is proud of herself when her only outward reaction is the tightening of her fingers around her glass.

“She was helping Astoria to pick out a fabric for her New Year’s party dress, and I’ll tell you: that girl has an eye for fashion. She’s fabulous.”

Rose’s mind is whirring; spinning wildly trying to find something to say but her mind is full of the fact that Astra was at the Malfoy estate in France helping Astoria to pick out patterns when Rose has never been within fifty miles of the place. Three years with Scorpius and she has never even seen it. Two and a half months with Astra and he was taking her to meet his Grandparents. She tried hard not to be devastated.

She’d never been so miserable about being so right; the only reason they had stayed together so long was because of his lack of anyone to compare her to.

Rose makes a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat and Clio’s smile turns rapacious.

“They really do make the most wonderful couple – Scorpius and Astra. They look _magnificent_ together and, of course, his family _adores_ her, you know? And he’s quite enamoured himself. He was telling me whilst I was visiting about how very much _in love_ he is and how he’s happier than he’s _ever_ been –“

“Clio.” The sound of Edmund’s voice, firm and chiding, startles Rose and when she turns to him she’s surprised to find him looking at her instead of his fiancé. His expression is sad and sympathetic and maybe a bit frustrated and not at all what she is expecting. It gives her a good indication of the expression on her own face. Clio has the good grace to look contrite as she picks up her glass of wine and sips demurely.

Rose takes a deep breath.

“I –“ her voice breaks and she grimaces at the sound. She clears her throat and tries again. “I’m glad he’s happy. It makes _me_ happy to know that everything is going to so well for him in France.”

And she’s surprised to find that, underneath all the heartbreak, she really does mean it. Because isn’t that what love is? Putting someone’s happiness before your own? Isn’t that why she’d done this in the first place?

She’s not sure anymore.

For what it’s worth, the smile that Edmund gives her tells her he knows exactly what she’s thinking; exactly how she’s feeling and Rose is glad to have the confirmation that she did the right thing.

Later that night, curled up in bed and watching _Persuasion_ she receives an unexpected text:

[21:39] **What did I do, Rosie? At least tell me that?**

She sets her phone down on her bedside table and has to swallow down the lump in her throat.

She can’t understand why Scorpius would still care when he’s now in love with someone else. He has to know why she won’t answer: Albus and Edmund must have told him that she’s still in love with him.

She still can’t bring herself to hope that he doesn’t contact her again.

Captain Frederick Wentworth’s face appears on Rose’s laptop:

“ _I have loved none but you,_ ” he tells Anne Elliot. “ _You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and Plan. Have you not seen this?_ ”

Rose reaches miserably into the Sainsbury’s bag by her bed and pulls out a box of _Ferrero Roche_ and a pack of Peanut butter Oreos.

It’s just one more night that she cries herself to sleep.

 

###

 

**(ix)**

 

Rose goes home for the holidays the day that classes finish.

Her case is packed and waiting in her car when she all but runs out of her last class and an hour and a half later she’s stood in front of her childhood home with an overwhelming sense of relief. She can feel tears beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes.

The front door swings open and there are her parents, bemused smiles on their faces as they take in the appearance of their daughter a full day earlier than they were expecting. And then they see the tears which have started to slip down Rose’s cheeks and are suddenly rushing towards her, their faces stricken and their arms thrown wide.

One touch and she’s breathing again.

She doesn’t know how long they all stand there holding each other, allowing her parents to sooth the hurts of the past five months with soft words and gentle strokes to her hair and back.

Rose is home.

Even Hugo seems glad to see her when they finally make it through the front door and for the first time in his teenage career he greets her with a hug of his own. She clings to him for a moment, like a drowning man to a lifeline, before pulling back. He doesn’t say a word to her; he simply hands her a red twizzler and then retreats back upstairs to his room.

Rose is _happy_ to be home.

The peace and comfort lasts exactly eighteen days before she finds herself desperate to get out of the house and away from the suffocating arms of her parents. She makes it through Christmas and Boxing Day, all the way up to the day before New Year’s Eve before she needs to get away on her own. She loves them; she really, really does, but she can’t stand the concerned looks and whispered conversations and her mother’s constant attempts to feed her high calorie foods. She’s fed up of hearing that she’s too thin.

So, she grabs a book, jumps in her car and heads into town. Rickmansworth is a small town with a population of around fifteen thousand and Rose has always loved it here. It’s green and picturesque and she understands why her parents decided to settle down here when they left school. She stops off briefly to pick up the latest issue of _Tatler_ and then proceeds to the closest Starbucks.

She’s settled in with a Trenta Gingerbread Latte and a piece of fruit cake shaped like a Christmas tree and is starting to relax when she pulls the magazine towards herself. The front page is taken up with an image of a smirking Keira Knightly and a promise that the pages within hold the one hundred must have gifts of the season. This is mindless, useless and distracting; it is exactly what Rose needs.

She’s taking her time, flipping slowly through the pages as she reads the articles and takes her time over the pictures. She’s almost working on automatic when she turns the page and there they are: _Scorpius and Astra_.

Rose’s body goes cold.

It’s a two page spread which is mostly taken up by pictures of the two together. At the top of the page, the headline reads: “ _Malfoy and Zabini families set to join once and for all_.”

Some of the pictures she’s already seen on Astra’s Instagram and Twitter pages. But some of them are paparazzi shots: Scorpius and Astra out for a meal together; leaving a nightclub hand in hand; at the Zabini Winter Gala with his arm around her waist; walking along the street with his arm around her shoulder and hers around his waist, their faces turned in towards each other as they smile adoringly.

Bile rises up in Rose’s throat so fast that she barely has time to grab her bag and make a dash for the toilets. She just makes it into a cubicle as her breakfast and fruit cake make an appearance again. She heaves and heaves, tears running down her face until she is forced to her knees where she continues to heave until there is nothing left in her to bring up. So she leans her head on her arms and gives herself over to her tears instead and she’s not sure if the bitter taste in her mouth is vomit or regret.

She doesn’t know how long she stays on the floor crying into her arms but eventually her tears run dry as well and she forces herself up and out of the stall. A look in the mirror confirms that her mascara now covers most of her face. She does her best with the paper towels at hand, but no one will be able to mistake the fact that she’s been crying. There’s not really much she can do about that at this point so she steels her spine and steps out of the bathroom.

The shop is surprisingly empty and her stuff is still spread out across her table. She heads straight for it, swipes up her book and magazine from the table and her coat from the back of her chair and then she’s all but running out into the street. Two minutes later she’s back in her car and she breaks the speed limit all the way home.

She’s looking for her father when she bursts through the front door, tears starting again, but instead finds herself face to face with her mother. Rose barely has her coat off before her mother is dragging her into the kitchen and forcing her into a seat at the breakfast bar. Hermione doesn’t say a word as she sets about gathering together tea bags and milk and sugar and then the next thing Rose knows, she’s cradling a hot cup of tea and hiccupping quietly into her mother’s shoulder.

“Rose,” Hermione says softly, “you need to move on. This isn’t healthy. It’s been five months now.”

Nought to sixty in point one of a second. Rose is suddenly _furious_.

She pulls back and glares murderously at her mother.

“Excuse me?” Hermione’s eyes widen as she seems to realise her mistake.

“I only mean that you need to stop letting this get you down. You need to put it aside and start focusing on the other things in your life. You can’t let puppy love control you like this.”

Rose croaks indignantly.

“ _Puppy love_?”

“Yes, puppy love,” Hermione says and her tone is suddenly stern. “You’re eighteen; you’re going to be in love a lot more times than this, but unless you pull yourself together you’re going to start jeopardising your future and you can’t afford to do that. Rose, you’re at _Cambridge_ -“

“How _dare_ you – this was your idea; this is your fault-“

“Rose.” Her father’s hand is warm and gentle on her shoulder but his voice is firm when he speaks her name. It’s enough to quiet her. Ron turns to Hermione with a tense smile. “Why don’t you let me handle this one?”

To Rose’s everlasting surprise, Hermione just nods, offers a thankful smile and leaves Rose and her father alone in the kitchen. He takes Hermione’s vacated seats, lifts her mug of tea, drinks and then grimaces. “Never did understand how she can drink it without sugar.” Despite herself, her lips curve upward.

“She’s right, Rose.” This time, Rose doesn’t bristle. She doesn’t know what it is; she doesn’t understand why her father can tell her the same thing as her mother and get a completely different reaction out of her. Maybe it’s in the way he says it; like he’s talking to an equal and not his daughter. Rose doesn’t answer; she simply pushes the magazine towards him.

It takes him a moment to find the article. “Oh, Rosie.”

“Dad-“

“You don’t honestly believe this do you? Sweets, this magazine is nothing but glorified loo roll.”

Rose pauses. “What?”

“Things like this,” he says brandishing the story at her, “are the bread and butter of a magazine like _Tatler_. It doesn’t necessarily mean that the content is right. In fact, I’d stake my money on it being a load of bollocks.”

Rose purses her lips.

“Dad, they can’t just print any old rubbish; that’s illegal.”

“ _And yet_ ,” he says tapping the top of her head with the now rolled up magazine. “If you don’t believe me, ask your mother. They printed a story about her. Back just after Voldemort was killed, and we got our Royal Victorian Orders they ran a year’s worth of issues about the whole palaver. But they never did like your mum – jealous, of course – and when they did an issue about her they tried to make out she was having it off with me _and_ your Uncle Harry. Made her out to be quite the scarlet woman.”

“ _What?_ ” Ron laughs at her and Rose can feel one bubbling up in her chest too. “That’s – no way, that can’t be true.”

“I assure you, it is. We all had a good laugh over it.”

And despite everything, her father has done it again; she feels a smile rise up on her mouth.

“Rose, what are you doing?” Her father asks with a tired sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re obviously still in love with Scorpius.” Rose nods sadly, her eyes dropping the counter. “Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Because – what if that’s right? She asks pointing to the magazine in her father’s hand. “What if they are together? What would I gain from it?”

Ron shrugs. “You don’t get if you don’t ask, Rosie.”

“Dad, I can’t just-“

“Look, let me give you some advice – the things in life worth having, are the things worth fighting for. You made the decision to end this relationship and now you’re regretting it; that means that _you_ have to face up to the consequences and it means that it’s _your_ responsibility to fix it. You can’t just sit back and wait for everything to sort itself out. If Scorpius means that much to you, putting your pride aside to go to him and admit you were wrong will be easy.”

“And if it’s not easy?”

“Then you don’t love him as much as you think you do and you did the right thing in the first place.”

Rose pauses. She thinks hard. Thinks about a life without Scorpius versus the brief humiliation of going to him and telling him she was wrong, that she still loves him, that she wants him back –

“He might say no, anyway,” she tells her father and Ron nods slowly.

“Yes, he might. But only you know if it’s worth the risk.”

They fall into silence again and Rose considers her father’s face; freckled and pale but still handsome despite the lines around his mouth and eyes.

“Is that why you and mum stay together? Because the things worth having are worth fighting for?” Ron smiles sadly and lifts a large hand to cradle the side of Rose’s face.

“Something like that, sweets.” Rose feels tears beginning to well in her eyes again.

“But I don’t want to end up like you and mum,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to end up hating him the way you two – “

“Now you listen here,” her dad says sharply taking a firmer hold of her face. “Your mother and I do _not_ hate each other. Do you hear me? We absolutely do not hate each other. I love your mother with every fibre of my being. You think you love Scorpius? It’s nothing compared to the way I feel about your mother.” Rose looks at her father from beneath lowered lashes, a splash of red shame spreading across her cheeks. “We’ve been having a difficult time of things lately but don’t think we don’t love each other. Don’t think that we will ever stop trying to make things work. I will never stop fighting for your mother.”

The flood gates open and Rose throws herself into her father’s arms with a heart-rending sob. His arms catch her, like they always do, winding tightly around her and he pulls her to him and just holds her there against his chest and lets her cry. Lets her get it all out because he understands her and he understands what she needs.

“You need to follow your heart, Rosie,” he whispers into the top of her head. Rose nods.

She’s going to follow her heart.

But it’s going to be a round-about journey. First, she needs to go to London.

Scorpius is just going to have to wait a little bit longer.

 

 

###

 

 

 

**(x) there is no goodbye**

 

Unfortunately, her shopping trip to London means that she’s running late by the time she makes it to Wiltshire.

The Malfoy Manor is out in the middle of absolutely no where, a good forty-five minutes from the nearest town, which Rose has just passed. The green numbers on her dashboard clock tell her that it’s ten past eleven and Rose curses softly. She puts a bit more pressure on the accelerator and hopes she makes it before midnight.

She does.

It’s just gone twenty-five to twelve when Rose finally pulls up the long drive way of the Malfoy grounds and she spares a thought to pray there has been no speed cameras along the way otherwise she imagines that she’ll be in a lot of trouble very soon.

The drive way is full of expensive cars and Rose gets as close the front door as possible before throwing herself out of the car and up the front steps.

Astoria and Draco are at the top, waiting for her, their faces sagging comically in relief at the sight of her.

“Oh, thank god,” Draco groans to his wife with an exaggerated look before turning to stride back towards his party guests.

“Astoria –“ Rose starts.

“No,” Astoria cuts her off hurrying forward to wrap her up in a quick, tight hug. “No time. We can say hello and catch up later. He’s out in the garden.”

Rose is beyond confused but doesn’t try to stop the older woman from dragging her across the foyer and through the drawing room.

“I don’t –“ But Astoria cuts her off again with a soft _shush_ and motions her out into the garden. Rose hesitates because this all happening a lot quicker than she was expecting.

“Please,” is all that Scorpius’ mother says and Rose feels herself nod before stepping out into the wintry night air.

She can feel her body shaking and she can’t decide if it’s nerves or cold; probably a mixture of both because her heart is galloping inside her chest as she winds her way deeper into the perfectly landscaped gardens.

It doesn’t take her long to find him.

And he’s not alone.

He’s standing with his back to her, the muscles in his shoulders shifting as he talks to someone sat on the bench in front of him. Rose can see the beautiful angles of Astra Zabini’s face in the light cast across them from the fountain to their right.

Suddenly, her courage fails and Rose realises what a huge mistake she has made in coming here. How could she ever have thought that Scorpius would consider taking her back when he has Astra, now?

She takes a step back, her stiletto heel scraping quietly over the stone flagging beneath her feet, but it’s enough to catch the attention of Astra whose eyes shift from Scorpius to Rose.

There is a moment; a pulse of tension as the girls look at each other before a small smile curls the corners of Astra’s mouth. Rose can’t read what kind of smile it is, but it looks friendly enough. Rose almost wishes that it had been smug or cruel – it would make it so much easier to hate the girl. Their eyes linger on each other for a moment longer before Astra turns back to Scorpius and speaks.

Scorpius turns.

Rose’s breath leaves her as she gets her first real look at him in five months.

He hasn’t changed, not even a little bit; everything about him is as breathtakingly perfect as she remembers. And, yes, she knows she’s being over the top, but her emotions have suddenly gone into overdrive and everything feels so much more intense.

He’s in another classic black suit and white shirt combo, with the collar open and a square of cobalt silk tucked into the pocked of his jacket which perfectly matches the colour of Astra’s dress.

They’ve _coordinated_.

Rose’s stomach lurches.

She doesn’t know how long they stand and stare at each other before she realises that Astra is walking towards her and then, suddenly, is passing her with a shy smile on her face. The click and scrape of heels on stone can be heard above the tinkling of water from the fountain. And then she is alone with Scorpius.

She turns back to him to watch his eyes move over her from top to bottom and back again. They catch on a curl of red hair which brushes delicately against her neck and then settle wearily on her eyes.

“Another battle dress, Rose?”

Yes, it is another battle dress. Because, sometimes, battle armour just isn’t enough to protect our fragile hearts.

This one is white and silk. The neck, again, is bateau, resting just below her collar bone as the dress flows down sensually across her curves to settle just above her knees. But he hasn’t seen the best part yet, he hasn’t seen the sinfully low cowl of the back. Her shoes are white snake skin, t-bar and minimal with a teasing four inch heel. Her only concession to colour is the deep burgundy of her lips.

“Hello, Scorpius,” she says and is surprised when she feels herself moving a few steps closer; the need to be near him almost overwhelming.

He is silent for a moment, watching her carefully before he slips his hands into his pockets and faces her full on.

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Rose admits. Scorpius purses his lips.

“So why did you?” She can’t read the tone of his voice or the expression on his face and that terrifies Rose because she’s always been able to read him. But this closed off, blank look throws her completely. She clears her throat nervously.

“I came to see you.”

“That’s funny,” says Scorpius and his voice is flat, “because I was under the impression that you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

Rose takes a deep, fortifying breath and nods, dropping her eyes to where her fingers are wrapped tightly around her gold clutch. “I deserve that.”

Scorpius laughs scathingly. “No, Rose, that was me being nice. You deserve a lot more than that. You can’t honestly expect me to believe you came here to see me? You’ve been ignoring me for two months.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she says, her voice small.

“No?” replies Scorpius and his tone is merciless. “What were you doing then? Because it _felt_ a lot like you ignoring me.”

“I –“ But nothing else comes out and she simply stares helplessly into Scorpius’ angry face.

“Well?” he growls.

Rose feels her face crumple, wills herself not to cry. She turns her face away from him, towards the rose bush on her left and focuses on breathing. She hears the soft, slow scrape of his shoes across the stone. She hears his breath leave him in a long, loud _whoosh_.

“Jesus, Rose,” his voice is hoarse and tired. “I can’t do this – I can’t fight with you like this.”

She knows what he means because she’s barely spoken to him and she feels raw in every way. She turns back to him, startled to see that he’s closer and his face is as tired looking as he sounds. His eyes search her face for a moment before he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“So you came to see me?”

Rose nods, searches his face frantically for any sign of how he feels about her now; for a sign that she’s not too late.

“I wanted to tell you –“ She cuts off …

“You wanted to tell me…?”

… because she has a moment of clarity where she can see herself. She can see herself twice; tonight and the night, five months prior, when she had called things off. The soft, sensual curves of her dress now and the severe lines of the one she wore in July. Her lips, always encased in red. The way her heels help her stand taller; lend her a confidence she doesn’t have naturally. She sees herself, both times, hurting Scorpius.

And that is something she just can’t do anymore.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Scorpius deserves to be happy no matter who it is he’s happy with.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m – that it makes me – I just –“ She stops, breaths deeply. “I’m really glad that you’re happy.” Her voice is low, husky, as she pushes the words out around the huge lump that has grown in her throat.

Scorpius looks hurt and angry and confused. “What? Is that – did you _actually_ just – “

Rose panics. One of her hands flies up to grab onto – what? She doesn’t know.

“With-with Astra! I’m glad you’re happy with _Astra_!” she explains, her voice startling loud.

Scorpius’ mouth shuts with a click and his face is suddenly devoid of all expression. Rose recognises it as his thinking face; the one he uses when he’s working something out. She gives him a moment. One heartbeat. Two. Then she sees it.

She sees the exact moment that he realises what is going on. When he realises what she means. When he realises why she’s there.

She sees the way his eyes brighten as they light on hers; the way his mouth drops open in confusion and shock.

She has to tense her legs; push down through her heels to stop herself from acting on the sudden flight instinct that has risen up inside her. If she walks away from this with nothing else intact, she’ll make sure she has her dignity.

Scorpius’ mouth moves, but nothing comes out except for a few indecipherable noises and then he strides forward; five quick steps and he’s in front of her an arm’s length away.

“Rose, I –“ His voice sounds as torn up as she feels. “I’m not with Astra.”

It takes a moment for Rose’s brain to catch up to what Scorpius has just said and when it does; her breath seems to completely leave her body even though she’s sure she just sucked some in. Her chest feels tight and her stomach is turning over, and over, and over.

“That’s- that – can’t be –“

“Can’t be what, Rose?” his voice is urgent and he seems to reach for her then stops, letting his hand drop. “Can’t be what?”

“Albus said –“

“ _Albus?_ ”

Rose nods, dazed.

“He said you went to the Zabini Winter Gala with her –“

“I did.”

“- as her escort.” There’s a short pause.

“Ah,” Scorpius’ eyes narrow as he grimaces. “It wasn’t like that; she just needed – her grandparents wanted Astra to – to go, with someone she didn’t want to. It- it wasn’t like _that_.”

Rose is _confused._

“But Clio – “

“Oh Christ, _Clio_?”

“ – said that you took her to the Burgundy estate –“

“No, my Grandfather invited her _entire family_.”

“- and that you told Clio you were in love with Astra and had never been happier.”

Scorpius mouth drops; he sputters for a moment and then swears.

“Well Clio’s a bare faced liar because I never said anything of the sort. I am _not_ with Astra.”

Rose frowns; feels tension pull tight on her jaw.

“I’ve seen the pictures, Scorpius,” she tells him quietly and she’s starting to get a little bit annoyed because she doesn’t know what to believe now – Scorpius wouldn’t lie to her about this but she’s seen all the evidence to the contrary.

Scorpius frowns in frustration as he looks back at her expression of disbelief.

“Its – look, come sit here,” he says and he beckons her back to the bench where Astra had been sitting. Rose hesitates a moment before she follows and tries not to hiss at the touch of cold stone through the thin silk of her dress. She must not be very successful because Scorpius pauses to look at her, at the goose bumps that have risen up on her skin, and then gracefully whips off his jacket before swinging it over her shoulders.

For a moment Rose is overwhelmed by the smell of Scorpius before she feels him settle down beside her. He takes her shoulders and angles her so that they are facing in towards each other. She can feel the warm gust of his breath across her face and Rose marvels at the fact that this is the closest they’ve been to each other in five months.

“I am not in a relationship with Astra Zabini,” he says slowly, emphatically and he holds her eye the entire time. “But we tried to make it look like we were.”

Rose waits, expecting more. Nothing comes.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “That –“ but she has nothing to say to that because she doesn’t understand. “I don’t understand,” she tells him, her face screwing up. Scorpius smiles fondly and his fingers grip tighter at her shoulders where he’s still holding them.

“What I’m about to tell you stays between us until you are told otherwise. Do you understand? This is someone else’s secret.”

Rose nods wearily. “Yes, of course.”

“Astra is gay.”

Rose’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. _That_ is not what she had been expecting him to say.

“She’s involved with Chloe Finnigan-Thomas – they have been since they were sixteen.”

“Her grandmother threatened to disown her and her father if she didn’t ‘straighten herself out’- old witch that she is. She couldn’t do that to her father and I was looking to avoid female attention. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Oh.”

 _Oh_.

“Yes, oh.” Scorpius’ hands trail from her shoulders over the soft fabric of his jacket and then down onto her arms, across her cold skin which pebbles now for a completely different reason, until he is loosely gripping her wrists.

“So you’re not-?”

“No, _not_.” A smirk is starting to grow at the corner of his mouth and she feels a thrill up her spine.

“With anyone?” she lets the hope bleed through; gives herself up to this.

“Well that depends,” he tells her and starts to rub circles on the inside of her wrist when he feels her tense up.

“On what?” she breathes.

“Why did you come tonight, Rose?”

She drops her eyes, watches her fingers play over the beads of her clutch for a moment before she lifts them back to Scorpius’ face. He’s smiling; a brilliant beautiful smile that she can see he is trying to hold back. Her body weakens; goes liquid and she leans in towards him and his heat.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” he tells her and his voice is low and soft. “But I want you to say it.”

“Why? You didn’t want me to say it when-“ Scorpius chuckles.

“That’s because I didn’t want to hear what you were saying then. But I want to hear this.” He dips his head forward, briefly nuzzles his nose against hers and pulls back to look at her again. “I need to head this.”

Rose smiles because she can do this for him. She can do it for herself. She can do it for them.

“I made a mistake and you were right. I’ve spent the past five months in complete misery because all I wanted was to be with you. I’m so sorry.”

Scorpius hums and drops his forehead down to rest against hers. “That’s not what I want to hear, although I certainly appreciate you saying so.”

And Rose knows what he wants to hear because it’s what she needs to say.

“I love you,” she tells him; says it simply because it’s the simplest thing in the world to love Scorpius.

Then his lips are on hers.

They’re warm and moist and he tastes exactly as she remembers. He presses against her lips softly, smoothly; small brushes of his against hers until her lips part on a drawn breath and then he pushes forward, firmer, his tongue curling into her mouth to meet hers.

Her hands have moved of their own accord to reach up between them and hold onto the sides of his neck. She breathes deeply through her nose, takes in the scent of him, and then surges forward with her entire body as she kisses him.

His arms around her now, beneath the warmth of his jacket and he makes a small, surprised noise as his hand comes into contact with the bare skin of her back. Rose shivers in his arms and flicks her tongue against his lips. Scorpius tears himself away with a tortured moan.

“We can’t-“

Rose tenses and Scorpius pulls her closer to him.

“Not here. I want too much. I won’t be able to stop.”

And she wants, too, so she kisses him softly, sweetly, and says “I love you,” instead.

“I love you, too,” he breathes against her lips and Rose feels something inside her unravel. Relief pours through her pure and glorious like nectar and she’s surprised to realise how much she had still doubted he would want her.

They are silent for a moment, pressed against each other; breathing in the familiar scent of each other, simply being together in that moment and Rose feels content.

“I can’t believe you believed _Clio_ ,” he tells her. Rose sighs.

“I had no reason not to,” she tells him indignantly. Scorpius snorts.

“Is that what convinced you to come tonight?”

“No,” Rose says quietly. “I saw the article in _Tatler_.” Scorpius grimaces.

“Rosie, I’m sorry-“

“No,” Rose tells him, laying a finger against his lips. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for and it would have served me right if it had all been real. No, the article made me realise just how much I don’t want to live without you in my life.”

Scorpius has no answer. He just tightens his arms and then pulls back to look down at her, taking her hands into his. “I had planned on telling you about it – about the arrangement with Astra but then you-“ He stops, and looks at her sadly.

“I stopped answering you,” Rose finishes for him and he nods. “Oh Scorpius, I’m so sorry.” But he just shakes his head and squeezes her fingers. “So what happens to Astra?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your arrangement? Do I need to keep a low profile till she can …” Rose trails off, unsure about what is going to happen now. Scorpius has made a commitment to help a friend and Rose has no business getting in the way of that now, especially since it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t of broken up with him

Scorpius doesn’t answer for a moment, just sits and stares at her before swooping down to press his lips against hers, hard.

“No, no arrangement,” he tells her gruffly. “Everything is fine now.”

“But-“ Scorpius tuts and  smirks roguishly.

“Turns out that there was a bit of a discrepancy with her Grandmother’s finances. Ms Zabini asked Grandfather if she could use the Malfoy accountant as hers was – ah – taken up with a family emergency. Ms Zabini, it seems, owed a lot of money to the Government. Turns out that the only way to save the money and estates from the Inland Revenue was to sign it all over to Blaise. The paperwork went through on the twenty seventh. Astra is going to get every penny that’s hers.”

Rose feels a genuine smile spread across her lips. “And whose idea was that?”

“Albus’, actually. He came back from the weekend he visited you determined to find a way to help Astra. I’m not quite sure what happened – but, anyway it worked and it certainly bodes well for his future law career.” Rose laughs delightedly.

“So the Zabinis get to live happily ever after, money and all.”

“Money and all,” Scorpius agrees. “In fact, Astra got an advance from her father and used some of it to buy a ring; she’s proposing to Chloe tonight.”

“How wonderful!” Rose says excitedly as she sits up straighter and sways in towards Scorpius. “Oh, babe, that’s really wonderful.”

And Rose feels euphoric and her body feel light, as though she’s floating in water. Because it looks like she might be getting her happily ever after, too.

 Scorpius smiles down at her, smoothes a hand across her cheeks.

“And us?” he asks her.

“Us?” Rose echoes.

“Do you still want us to wait before we get engaged?” he says and then smiles as she shakes her head against his palm.

Inside the manor, the clocks strike twelve.

“No,” she tells him softly. “I think we’ve waited long enough.”


End file.
